A Harvest Dance
by Chaos-Carter
Summary: [RononTeyla] Sometimes you have to change the steps in order to truly find your feet. EPILOGUE NOW UP.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like)… just because I don't want people yelling at me.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

Note: Well, I'm back. This story started out as a one-shot, and then it just wouldn't shut up. So now it's looking like five or six chapters, methinks. This one goes out to Diabla and Sugarplum (modern art forever!), because they rock my world. Special thanks to Maria, who picked the title, and Shah, who told me how real people fight. Maria and Shah also rock my world.

Also, much love goes out to Rach (rach0486) for her oh-so-amazing beta work. Without her I would sound really stupid.

Chapter One 

"Ow! That hurts!" he hissed loudly, hand coming up reflexively to guard the back of his neck.

Teyla only laughed as she twisted her hand expertly through his hair. "You should not complain so much."

Ronon winced in pain (mostly for show), but he knew she was right. After all, she was doing him a favor.

He had been more than reluctant to give up his dreadlocks. He'd had them since secondary school, and by now they were just as much a part of his reflection as his face, his eyes. They'd been through a lot together, he'd argued fiercely. It wasn't fair.

In the end, it wasn't like Ronon purposefully betrayed them – he truly didn't have a choice. He, Teyla, and a handful of marines had been delegated to the mainland to assist in the year's harvest. Nearly a week in the moist ocean air had taken its toll on many things – patience, muscle integrity, and, unfortunately, his hair. Long, sweaty days in the sun-baked fields hardly helped. By the fourth day Ronon's head had become a veritable bush. He endured the good-natured teasing of the other men with patience, even indulging in a self-deprecating chuckle once or twice. But when the third youngling burst into tears upon seeing him, he conceded that something had to be done.

He winced again as Teyla pulled another strand of hair into the tiny braid. What had to be several hundred like it already covered the left side of his head. What Ronon had hoped could be completed before he left for the fields had become a day-long odyssey. A small crowd of children had gathered, watching wide-eyed and no doubt committing every Satedan curse word that escaped him to memory. There had even been a vote over the color of his hairties; Ronon had lobbied for black almost desperately as a group of teenage girls produced scraps of purple ribbon from their pockets. Sure, red or green he could see, but purple was _definitely _not happening. When he attempted escape and Teyla had to drag him back, laughing, to his seat, she finally gave in. Seeing Ronon with purple hair, while an amusing concept, was hardly worth explaining the need for a search party to the village men.

A sharp pain at the base of his neck jerked Ronon back to reality. He frowned, hissing slightly as Teyla tied off the braid with black cord and moved on to another.

She laughed again. "All this fuss from a grown man who survived nearly a decade at the hands of the Wraith."

Ronon scowled. "Yeah, well, they never pulled my hair."

By the time Teyla finished with the last of his braids, the sun had all but disappeared over the ocean. The children had long since abandoned him, running to meet their fathers as the men came in from the fields.

The walk back to Arden's house was nearly silent. Ronon had stayed with Teyla and her friend for his first night on the mainland; however, a seemingly unending flow of questions pertaining to the nature of his and Teyla's relationship had prompted him to accept another offer of shelter.

Ronon stopped a few hundred feet short of the entryway, turning to face Teyla. "Hey, thanks for…" he twirled a finger in the general direction of his hair. He had already pulled it back into a low ponytail, Teyla noticed, sparing only a few of the front braids. Some things never changed.

"It was no trouble," she smiled quietly. "I rather enjoyed it, actually. I have not had the chance to braid hair since my younger cousins were old enough to do it themselves. I have to admit, however, that they were not nearly so belligerent."

Ronon took the dig with grace, chuckling quietly. The night air was warm, the stars bright. He could just make out the lights of Atlantis on the horizon. His eyes scanned the ocean and the sky, finally resting on Teyla.

Her face was upturned, eyes watching the stars calmly. He was captivated by the wash of moonlight on her cheeks, her hair. Without thinking he reached out, moving the loosely tied strands of hair over her left ear.

Teyla started slightly, her eyes darting to meet his. He struggled to find words. "So… is it my turn tomorrow?"

"I do not understand." Her voice, tinted with confusion, was noticeably shaky.

Ronon dropped his hand quickly. "Tomorrow I get to do your hair. It's only fair."

She raised an eyebrow. "I was unaware that you knew _how_ to do hair, Ronon." As he opened his mouth to speak, she anticipated the next words and cut him off. "You are _not _putting dreadlocks in my hair."

Ronon tried his best to look hurt. "Well, fine then. But I do get to do _something_ to you, especially after what you put me through today."

Ronon's heart skipped a beat at the shy smile she gave him. God, did she even know what she did to him?

"And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Ronon paused for a moment, pretending to think. "Oh, I don't know." He grinned deviously, opening the door. He turned to wink at her over his shoulder as she walked away. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

- end chapter one -

Hope y'all liked it. Chapter two should be along shortly. And what is the nefarious Ronon planning?… Oh, wait, you actually thought I was going to tell you? That's funny. Tough luck – y'all will just have to tune in and see! Reviews are love.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like)… just because I don't want people yelling at me.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! Thanks to all you who reviewed chapter one, and to everybody who came back for chapter 2! I hope you all are enjoying the story. Also, I have to apologize for the confusing appearance of this chapter. For some reason the document upload system doesn't seem to like my computer, and I get the impression the feeling is mutual. One way or another, it won't preserve any of my formatting… SO, if you see something that looks like this " – break –", it means time has passed / there is a break in the scene. Thanks in advance for your understanding… hopefully I will have all of this sorted out soonish.

Also, thanks to rach0486 for her lovely beta work. She deserves cookies and hugs.

CHAPTER 2

Teyla couldn't help but curse as the clay pot slipped to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces.

Rheana came running out of the adjoining pantry, practically flying into the kitchen. "What was that?"

Teyla grinned apologetically at her friend and, for the moment, host. "It _was_ a grinding bowl. I am afraid it isn't much of anything now."

Rheana struggled to maintain an expression of mock disapproval. "Teyla, sometimes I worry that you have become too much of a warrior. Cooking is not supposed to be this _violent_."

Teyla punched her in the arm gently before reaching down to help pick up the pieces. "It has obviously been too long since you last watched me cook, friend."

And today was just the beginning. Teyla groaned internally as she pulled a new bowl down from the cupboard and began to toss spices in. The Harvest Celebration was only a day away, and with food to prepare for several hundred people the women of the village were hard-pressed. The air was thick with the smell of herbs and spices; in a few hours, the scent of roasting meat would carry all the way to the fields, coaxing the exhausted men back home for the night.

Most of the women enjoyed it, of course. In the small village cooking was always a social activity; no one ever had quite everything they needed to prepare a meal. With the celebration approaching so quickly, many women had formed teams of several households. Teyla, of course, did not have a choice; without her own kitchen (or a permanent home on the mainland, for that matter), she was forced to use her host's.

Not, of course, that she was much help. After Teyla had burned the third batch of bread, Rheana had banned her from access to the clay oven; fire-cooking privileges were soon to follow. At that point, Teyla had been put on permanent grinding and chopping duty; at least she knew how to handle the knives.

Rheana returned from the pantry a second time, brandishing a handful of threatening-looking plants. They were deep red in color and dripped a darkly colored juice. Teyla eyed them suspiciously. "What are those?"

"_Grava_ plants." Rheana slapped them on the cutting board and turned back to the fire, as if the name were self-explanatory. Teyla coughed pointedly. "Oh, right," Rheana chuckled, turning back around. "This is you we're talking about."

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "I do not see how this constant taunting is helping."

Rheana laughed. "Oh, trust me, it is." She lifted one of the long stalks, breaking it neatly in two lengthwise. "You have to peel off the outer skin. It's too tough to eat. The juicy stuff inside needs to be finely chopped so I can add it to the soup." She demonstrated on the first stalk before returning to the cooking pot, humming contentedly as she stirred.

Teyla sighed, setting to work on the heap of stems. Why, again, was she doing this? She had practically begged for a spot on the hunting party, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Rheana was determined to teach her to cook, no matter how painful the process was going to be. So Ronon had gone, armed to the teeth as usual, as Teyla watched with envy and brandished her stirring spoon in the general direction of his retreating figure. Some things just weren't fair.

Her mind snapped back to the present as deep maroon juice sprayed into her eyes. She cussed loudly this time, stabbing her knife into the wooden board. Ronon was _so_ going to die.

– (break) –

It was almost nightfall and Teyla was convinced she had mastered the art of _grava_ chopping when she heard the laughter of children outside.

She squinted into the darkness outside, making out the figures of the hunting party beneath a handful of torches. Older boys took the _neeba_ (a larger local version of deer) from their fathers, proudly carrying one or more off to each of the Athosian homes. It appeared the hunters had been very successful.

Teyla returned to her chopping as she saw Ronon's large silhouette in the light outside Rheana's doorway. She feigned disinterest.

A loud knock and the sound of the door opening followed, but Teyla kept her eyes on the _grava_. If Ronon got to have all the fun, she damn well wasn't going to let him brag about it.

But her plans were foiled as Rheana came bubbling across from the fire. "Ronon! Welcome! Come in, come in. How was the hunting?"

Teyla looked up as Ronon shrugged dismissively. "Okay, I guess," he mumbled, dumping not one but three _neeba_ onto the table.

Rheana laughed. "Okay?" She turned to Teyla. "Three _neeba_ and he says the hunting was 'okay'?"

Ronon smiled slightly, pulling a knife from the sheath on his wrist. "Throwing knives. Pack more of a punch than arrows."

Rheana bowed her head. "I thank you for your gift. Please, join us for dinner. Teyla is preparing _grava_ soup."

Ronon glanced at Teyla and her plants, then back to Rheana. "You got Teyla to cook?"

The tall Athosian nodded proudly.

"Impressive!" Ronon made his way over to the other side of the table to peer at Teyla's stack of peeled _grava_. "And it's edible?"

It was a testament to his reflexes that Ronon was able to duck before the handful of peels hit him in the face. The thick red shucks landed in the fireplace, sending up a cloud of bad-smelling steam. He laughed, meeting Teyla's fiery gaze.

"You _will_ eat the soup, or you will prepare your own meal," she ordered venomously.

Ronon squeezed her shoulders gently. "Long day, huh?"

Teyla sighed, attempting to calm herself. "You have no idea."

He sat down, pushing a _neeba_ leg out of his way unceremoniously. "Go ahead, tell me about it."

Teyla bit her lower lip, poking the tip of the chopping knife into the wood of the table. "I reduced three loaves of bread to ash, shattered two pots, cut my hand on a chopping knife, and came dangerously close to adding a poisonous herb to the soup."

Ronon whistled quietly, eyebrows raised. "That all?"

Teyla chuckled to herself. "There was an unfortunate incident involving a stirring spoon and the fire pit, but I must admit that it was not entirely accidental."

Ronon returned her smile. "Ah." There was a comfortable pause. "Well, I've got something that'll make your night." He grinned proudly, opening his hand to reveal a clump of tangled black stems. "I found these."

Teyla eyed the plants suspiciously. She didn't know them by name, but she remembered seeing a bunch of them growing by the stream. She scowled, meeting Ronon's smiling eyes fiercely. "If you want them chopped, stewed, or otherwise cooked, then I hope you are prepared to either do it yourself or find another kitchen."

A look of confusion crossed his face. "What? Oh. They're not for eating."

Teyla tried to remain patient. She knew her annoyance was foolish, but there were _grava_ leaves under her fingernails and her hands ached from chopping. "And what, then, do you intend to do with them?"

He grinned deviously. "If I told you, it would ruin the surprise."

Teyla frowned. "Surprise?"

"It's my turn tonight, remember?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten about that.

He stood. "Speaking of… we'd better get going."

Teyla grabbed hold of her chair defensively. "Going? Where?!"

"Well, the rest of my stuff is at Arden's, and the walk will take half an hour at least. What I have in mind will take at least another hour or so, and then you have to walk back… so if you intend on getting a decent amount of sleep tonight, we should probably head over to Arden's soon."

Teyla scrambled for an excuse. "Won't I be intruding?"

Ronon shook his head dismissively. "Nah, he's staying with the marines tonight. Something about learning to play poker. I've got the place to myself."

She tried again. "My soup…"

Rheana cut her off as she walked back into the room. "Don't worry, it still needs to simmer for another hour or so, and I can keep an eye on it. I'll send one of the younglings down with a few bowls if you're not back in time." A poorly suppressed grin crossed her face as she eyed Ronon. "Go, have your fun. Oh, and Ronon?"

He turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Rheana winked. "Try not to keep her out too late." With that, she ushered the two of them through the door and shut it tightly. Indulging in a self-satisfied sigh, she returned to the kitchen.

- end chapter 2 -

A/N: Okay, folks. Thanks for reading. Y'all know the drill. Reviews are chocolate and fluffy unicorns. Next chap should be up soonish, so keep your eyes open!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like)… just because I don't want people yelling at me.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! So, I just have a few things to say. First and Foremost, I need to add Julie (aka FullMetalRaven) to my list of important people. Julie is amazing. So, this chapter goes out to her. Three cheers for Julie! Yay! (okay, Julie, feel better now? Of course I didn't forget you!) Secondly, I must apologize for taking so long to get this chapter up. Actually, it wasn't really my fault – like many of you, I was unable to log in for several days when the site's hard drive failed. So… sorry for keeping you waiting!

Finally, for all of you who didn't notice last chapter, the doc upload system and my computer are about ready to kick off world war three. What that basically translates into is this: the chapter is gonna look really, really ugly because my formatting won't carry over. So… if you see something that looks like this " – break –", it means time has passed. Thanks in advance for your understanding.

As always, thanks to rach0486 for her lovely beta work. hugs

CHAPTER THREE

It had been an unproductive walk. Disappointing, even. Despite repeated interrogations and threats of bodily harm on Teyla's part, Ronon's mouth had remained shut; the only clues she would get were the spark in his eye and a tiny smirk. Teyla had decided that, if there was ever a man to trust with secrets, it would be Ronon. She doubted even the wraith had had any more success than she.

Arden's house was empty as promised – and dark. Ronon opened the door slowly, feeling his way around the table until he could light a torch on the opposite wall. A series of smaller torches and oil lamps followed until the room was bright with flickering candlelight.

For the duration of this process, Teyla had remained in the entryway, one hand cautiously resting on the doorframe as a late summer breeze caressed the back of her neck.

Ronon glanced at her and laughed. "You can come in, you know. I won't bite."

"And how can I be sure of that until you tell me what you are planning?" she countered, stepping lightly into the room and shutting the door behind her.

"Not feeling very patient, are we?" He chuckled. The rather large grin on his face only irritated her more.

"Okay, okay." He paused momentarily, even clearing his throat for effect before meeting her eyes. "So…" his voice was hesitant. "How do you feel about tattoos?"

Her heart stopped. "Ronon – Ronon, no, you can't… I mean I've never…" she stuttered for words for several seconds, finally taking a deep breath and starting over. "Ronon, you are NOT giving me a tattoo."

He winced, hands coming up apologetically. "Wait, okay, I didn't explain that well enough." She tried to argue, but he cut her off. "No, listen. It's not permanent, okay? The plants I showed you…" He gestured to the black stems now sitting on the table. "_Ivel_ stalks. We used to have them on Sateda – at least, something alarmingly similar to them. They're slightly acidic: they'll stain the skin, like ink. It lasts for a month or two, depending on how long you leave the dye on."

Teyla still looked mildly terrified. He sighed. "Look, you don't have to do it if you don't want to. It's just… something I'd like to share with you. Totally your call."

She bit her lip. After a moment of silence, she finally took a deep breath. "Will it hurt?" The question was tentative, as if she wasn't sure she wanted an answer.

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "This from the woman who frequently kicks grown men's asses at sparring?" His face quickly grew serious at the death glare she shot him. "Yeah, a little. I'm not breaking skin, so there won't be any blood, but again, the juices are a little acidic. It'll burn a bit, and you should probably put some salve on it for the next few days, but nothing too bad."

She shut her eyes, then nodded, once, twice, the movement so small that it was barely visible.

Ronon held his breath. "Is that a yes?"

Teyla held out for a few more seconds before finally meeting his eyes. "That is a yes."

- break -

As nervous as she was, Teyla found it all very fascinating. Ronon coated his hands in oil first, to protect them from the dye, then gently slit and crushed the stalks as all of the juice trickled out into a tiny bowl. Reaching into his bag, he produced a number of other supplies, including cloth, water, disinfectant solution (pilfered from the jumper's first aid kit, no doubt) and several thick reeds that Teyla remembered seeing along the beach. The reeds were promptly sharpened into a series of quill-like objects, the pointed tips left to soak in the _ivel_ juice. He hummed while he worked.

Ronon, humming. Now there was an interesting concept. The sound was low and rough, some nameless tune Teyla had never heard before. She assumed it was Satedan, although with his distracted, disproportionate pauses, Teyla was unsure she would even recognize the song were it Athosian. She was entranced, so much so that it took her several long moments to notice when he stopped moving.

Ronon coughed quietly, tapping the edge of the table with his hand. "Up here, so I can see you." He appeared to be eyeing her neck; it was quite unsettling. "And you'll need to take that coat off."

She obeyed, folding her jacket neatly on the edge of the table and climbing up hesitantly. Her feet didn't even reach the ground.

He stared at her forehead until she raised her gaze to meet his own. His eyes were searching; she could see the barely suppressed anticipation behind them as they darted to watch each of her eyes in turn.

"Ready?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Now, before I think about this enough to change my mind again."

Ronon obeyed, quickly soaking one of the cloths with disinfectant. He began to wipe down the right side of her neck, from just below her ear to just above her collarbone. His moments were gentle, careful even, as if one wrong stroke would shatter her. Teyla's heart was beating much faster than she would have liked. He covered every curve, every inch of trembling skin. The night air was warm, yet she was shaking. Teyla cursed herself silently; this was foolish.

Finally he seemed satisfied. Reaching for the largest of the reed quills, he tapped it on the edge of the bowl, shaking off the excess juice. The tip was stained a dark black.

He brought it up to her neck, just below her ear. Hesitation. He pulled his lower lip into his mouth, placing a hand around the back of her neck to steady her, as if she was going somewhere. Finally, he took a deep breath and touched quill to skin.

Teyla gasped involuntarily, more from surprise than pain. The reed was rough on her neck, and a burning feeling set in almost instantaneously. She adjusted quickly – the pain level wasn't bad. It reminded her hot water splashed back from a pot the fire.

Ronon's hands moved tortuously slowly; the quill slid in a single broad stroke down her neck. He brought it up again, perhaps halfway to her ear, and started once more at a slightly different angle, this time in a thicker, sweeping curve that fell across her collarbone. She watched his eyes; they were focused, reverent almost. He went over each stroke again before replacing the quill in the dish and taking up a second, smaller reed. With this he made a wispy arc over the second stroke. Teyla tried to picture the shape in her mind, but it was unfamiliar.

The burning was stronger now; she winced slightly. Ronon noticed her discomfort and pulled away immediately, his grip tightening on her shoulder. "You okay?

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "The pain is not great, simply irritating. I am fine." He paused anyway, putting the brush down, and leaned back. Teyla had not realized how closely he had been standing. This was probably a good thing, she reminded herself, as she tried to calm her heart. But she never got the chance. Without warning, Ronon leaned in, his lips almost touching her neck. He breathed out softly, his breath cool and soothing compared to the heat in her skin. Teyla tried to fight back the sensory overload as he stood back up again. She studied the dark flame behind his eyes as he watched her, his gaze almost challenging. He knew exactly what he was doing.

To Teyla's relief, Ronon finally took up the third brush. Five hollow circles appeared along the left side of his symbol, three full ones along the arc. He was finished.

"There," he murmured, a touch of self-satisfaction obvious in his voice. "You'll want to let that sit for a little while. Well, maybe you won't want to, but you have to if you want it to last."

Teyla nodded, her mind still spinning. She slid off of the table, landing gently on the balls of her feet. She was fully aware that she was standing well within Ronon's personal space. Raising her chin, she met his gaze, his challenge reflected in her own eyes. Two could play this game.

Ronon backed down first, which surprised her. He moved around to stand behind her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, guiding her over to a small mirror mounted on the wall. He grabbed a torch, holding it over her shoulder.

Teyla gasped quietly. It was beautiful. Dark, black lines wove down her neck in an intricate symbol, arcing around her pulse point and sweeping over her collarbone. Her flushed skin only made them stand out more. She struggled for words, the pain forgotten. "Ronon, it… it is beautiful."

"It's Satedan," he stated plainly, shrugging off the compliment. "Tattoos were part of the tradition on my planet; each person picked a symbol, usually depicting a characteristic or ideal, and marked themselves with it when they became an adult. The idea was to pick something that defined you, so that if all anyone ever knew about you was your tattoo, they could understand at least one part of who you were."

"So the tattoo on your neck…" she trailed off, questioning.

Ronon smiled. "It means fire." He didn't need to explain.

Teyla wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answer to her next question. "And mine…"

She watched him in the mirror as his eyes dropped, fingers grazing the edge of the symbol lightly. He frowned slightly, visibly hesitating before speaking. Although he didn't even really speak – the whisper was barely audible.

"Grace."

- break -

"Shut up!" Teyla giggled, almost dropping the salve-soaked cloth she was holding to her collarbone. She rarely used the earth phrases she had picked up, but sometimes they really were the most effective methods of expression.

Rheana was now laughing even harder. "I can't believe it! You've been branded!" She pulled the cloth away, examining the dark strokes against Teyla's almond skin. "Did it hurt?"

Teyla chuckled. "A little," she said, not without a tinge of pride.

"That's Satedan, right?" Her friend sounded genuinely curious as she wiped the tears from her eyes. "Does it mean anything?"

Teyla reddened slightly. "Yes." Rheana gestured encouragingly. "It means… grace," she murmured quietly.

Rheana only burst out laughing again. "Grace?! A man called you graceful. To your face. Or your neck. Whatever." Her voice turned serious in record time. "Are you courting?" she gasped.

Teyla choked. "Not that I know of."

Rheana rolled her eyes. "You are foolish, child. The man's a hard worker; he can hunt; he's hot…" she giggled at her own use of the earth term. "And, with the way he treats you, I'm surprised hasn't declared intentions yet."

Teyla sighed. "Ronon… is not often open about his emotions. Even if there were something… I would never… we would never know."

Rheana rolled her eyes. "Teyla, just because people do not declare things out loud does not mean they are not 'open'. Trust me, Ronon has made it more than clear that he cares for you. You two are the talk of the village right now. I suspect he has been _trying_ to tell you how he feels – in some strange, Ronon-esque way." She gestured to the tattoo.

"Perhaps you're just not allowing yourself to listen."

END CHAPTER THREE

A/N: Wow, so that was the shippiest chapter I think I have ever written. Ever. Huzzah! Hope y'all liked it, and if you did, please tune in for the next chapter. I think there are going to be about four more (which means we're not even halfway there!). And remember, reviews are kittens and thick, fluffy towels fresh out of the dryer.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like)… just because I don't want people yelling at me.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! Thanks for coming back! I just want to say thank you to everybody who has reviewed so far – they are, indeed, read and VERY much appreciated. Hope you're all enjoying the story so far. I'd also like to apologize for the rather long break between the last chapter and this one. I obviously cannot speak for all of you, but I assume the majority of people reading this story have at some point gone through finals and/or end-of-term exams. They are not pretty things, and they tend to interfere with one's creativity. So, thank you all for your understanding, and I assure you I will try my very best to get chapter 5 to you all in a far more timely manner.

Just to let you all know, this chapter is going to be fairly short. It was originally part of the _next_ chapter, but that one got to being so absurdly long that people would have gotten a third of the way through and died. So I decided to give this part a chapter of its own. Not to say that the next chapter won't still be absurdly long – unfortunately, it will – I'm just hoping that now you won't die before you can finish it.

Okay, I'll shut up now.

As always, thanks to rach0486 for her lovely beta work. hugs

CHAPTER 4

Dawn of the festival day came early, with a thick ocean mist that persisted until long after sunrise. Ronon awoke with the sun, as he always did. Deep inside, some part of him realized that his years of running were long over. But he was a creature of habit.

Besides, even with the harvest finished, the day would be a long one. Teyla had spoken to him in great length of the Harvest Festival, her eyes bright with memories of years past on Athos. This year would be different, no doubt, as it would be their first true celebration since the culling. Still, the anticipation among the Athosians was almost tangible.

Ronon stretched his tired muscles lazily, pulling a loosely woven tunic over his head as he stepped outside. His own clothes having quickly become dirtied with soil and sweat in the fields, Ronon had been relying entirely on Arden's generosity for nearly a week now. He inhaled the morning air deeply. The smell of roasting meat and baking bread was almost as heavy as the fog.

The short walk to the village well had become a rather satisfying morning ritual; he had missed the feel of gentle earth under his feet in the smooth-floored hallways Atlantis. The trees were quiet, comforting almost, disappearing up into the low clouds. Many of the other field workers were already up and about, their sleeping patterns conditioned from weeks of rising before the sun. A number of young men and marines had started up a card game nearby. Those who felt the need for physical movement had begun gathering wood or fetching water. Other early risers among the villagers called to him as he passed, offering a friendly wave or greeting. Ronon smiled despite himself as a Frisbee (no doubt pilfered from the marines) flew past his head, promptly followed by a pack of small, loudly screaming children.

The well water was cold against his face, sharp in the salty ocean breeze. Ronon sat on the stone rim for some time, watching the village wake slowly. This was one thing he had missed in his years as a runner – the calls of children going about their chores, smoke curling from chimneys to weave into the fog, men gathering by the well to talk of crops and weather. Granted, the city streets of Sateda were hardly comparable to a simple farming community. But still – still, there was a sense of belonging, a sense of safety that had been taken from him. It was strange, Ronon thought, that he seemed to feel it again in a village of strangers.

After a few minutes he was startled back to the present by the splash of a bucket behind him. He chastised himself for his momentary inattention as he turned.

Ronon didn't think he had ever seen Teyla looking so cheerful. Granted, she was generally a much happier person than he, but even this was a stretch. She looked content, well-rested, peaceful. He smiled to himself.

"Well, good morning."

"Good morning to you, Ronon." She responded with an almost uncharacteristically large smile.

Ronon walked around the well casually, confidently. He stepped into her personal space like it was nothing – like it was a habit. Her smile faltered slightly as he reached up to run a finger down her neck, tilting her chin slightly to examine the skin underneath. "And how's this feeling?" he murmured, nodding towards the tattoo.

She shivered slightly as his fingers skimmed the now-darkened black lines. "Fine."

"You've been putting the salve on it?" he asked, almost protectively.

"Yes," she responded, raising an eyebrow and meeting his gaze. Ronon simply grunted in response.

There was a moment of silence that became awkward all too quickly.

"… Rheana and I were just about to prepare breakfast. Would you care to join us?" Teyla smiled warmly once more, lifting her water buckets from the well and unhooking them from the ropes.

"Yeah, sounds great," he grunted, reaching across to take both of the heavy buckets. She nodded in thanks, returning her hands to the pockets of her jacket as they began to walk. Silence began to set in once more.

This time Ronon was the one to break it. "So… you just get up?"

Teyla laughed, as if this were a foolish question. "Hardly. I am currently on my third batch of bread, and Rheana and I have been roasting meat since before sunrise."

Ronon whistled. "Busy day."

She nodded. "They always are at harvest time."

"But it's worth it?"

"Yes." Teyla did not hesitate. The quizzical look on Ronon's face demanded elaboration, so she continued, albeit a little more reluctantly. "As a leader, I recognize the importance of this festival for… "morale" is the right word, I think. It has been too long since my people had something to celebrate. This will be good for them – especially the younger children. Some of them have never seen a Harvest Festival." She paused. A wide grin slowly made its way across her face. "And, as an Athosian, I must admit that I, too, am looking forward to the festivities." Ronon chuckled.

They soon reached Rheana's small cabin; Teyla opened the door widely, allowing Ronon to walk through first.

Before he had even made it to the kitchen, Rheana's voice sounded from within the pantry. "By the ancestors, Teyla, you take twice as long to fetch water as the children. Another minute and I was going to send out a search party." She emerged from the back room with two fistfuls of herbs and flour all over her face and clothes. She stopped dead in her tracks when she realized it was Ronon she was berating. "Oh."

Ronon chuckled as he set the buckets on a table next to the fireplace. "My apologies."

Rheana recovered quickly. "It is wonderful to see you this morning, Ronon. Would you care to join us for some tea and bread?" To Teyla she mouthed, "You could have warned me!"

"I would be honored." Ronon bowed his head slightly.

Rheana smiled. "Well, it won't be much. Wouldn't want to ruin your appetite for the festival tonight! Usually I wouldn't suggest eating anything, but no doubt you'll be in the games this afternoon, so…"

A curious frown crossed Ronon's features. "Games?"

She turned from the fire, pausing a moment in her stirring. "Don't tell me Teyla hasn't mentioned them yet." Rheana eyes darted to her friend – the question was clear in her eyes.

"I must confess, it had slipped my mind," Teyla laughed, setting a few pieces of bread and a bowl of broth in front of Ronon. "The tradition is so old. I suppose it did not occur to me that anyone would not know of it."

"Games?" Ronon repeated, his tone demanding explanation.

"Yes," Teyla sat down on the edge of the table. " Every year – at least, it used to be every year – we hold a tournament on the day of the festival. Essentially it is a series of one-on-one mock fights; the winner receives the honor of saying a prayer over the Harvest Feast. Any one can enter, even some of the older children. It is all for fun, of course, just a chance for everyone to show off their skills."

Ronon was intrigued. "By fights, do you mean hand-to-hand, or are there weapons allowed?"

"It depends. Hand-to-hand is allowed, but most choose to spar, as it is a traditional discipline among our people. Wood swords and single staffs may also be used."

Rheana interrupted from her corner. "Really, you can use just about anything, as long as you and your opponent can agree that the balance of weapons is fair."

"Anything?" A small smile crossed Ronon's features.

Teyla saw his next question coming. "No guns, Ronon." She laughed at the scowl on his face. "Remember, your opponent has to approve of your choice of weapon."

"But if I just gave him a gun and they were both set to stun –"

" – then you would win." Teyla finished for him. "You forget that very few of my people have learned to shoot anything but a bow and arrow."

"Okay, okay," Ronon grumbled. "But I can enter?"

"Of course!" Rheana gestured with her spoon. "You have done so much to help us this harvest – it would be wrong to exclude you. And besides," she laughed, "I am sure many of the villagers are eager to see what you are capable of. Teyla has told us of your skills as a warrior."

"Oh, she has, has she?" Ronon turned back to meet Teyla's eyes, a smirk on his face.

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "She exaggerates. I have, however, spoken of your violent tendencies and penchant for showing off."

Ronon chuckled, accepting the dig with grace. "Well, I would like to enter, if you're sure it's alright."

"Don't be silly," Rheana replied. She carried a steaming bowl of something over to the table and began to add a stack of chopped herbs. "I am sure the other competitors will be proud to challenge you." She eyed Ronon's untouched food, pointing with her spoon. "Now, eat your broth before it gets cold."

-(end chapter 4) –

A/N: Well, there you have it: the short and fairly pointless chapter! Yay! Coming up in chapter 5, we have… well… many people fighting many other people. Hope y'all are excited – I know I am. Remember, reviews are love.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like).

WARNING: There will be some mildly bad words in this chapter. If that bothers you, go to your happy place and don't read it. I won't mind. Promise.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! Hope y'all are feeling spiffy today. Thanks for all the lovely reviews. So, as promised, here is the absurdly long chapter. Sorry it took so long… I can almost promise the next one will be faster.

And for all of you who didn't notice in the first 4 chapters, the doc upload system and my computer are currently at war. What that basically translates into is this: the chapter is gonna look really, really ugly because my formatting won't carry over. So… if you see something that looks like this " – break –", it means time has passed. Thanks in advance for your understanding.

Many thanks to the lovely FullMetalRaven for her oh-so-short-notice beta work on this chapter. Thanks also to rach0486, who would have beta'd it if she wasn't so busy saving the world. We still love you, Rach.

CHAPTER 5

Ronon grunted as an elbow collided solidly with his chest. He tried to shake it off, sweat dripping from his braids onto his bare shoulders as he took a few steps back. He stopped short as his feet hit ocean.

_Damn, that one hurt! Who was this punk?!_

He eyed the marine as he circled, slowly, watching for a weakness. His opponent was young, probably no older than twenty-five, and fresh off the Daedalus. Ronon hadn't learned his name yet – and, unfortunately, hadn't had the chance to go against him in the gym back on Atlantis. So far the kid had done surprisingly well, defeating all of his earlier opponents quickly and efficiently.

No matter, Ronon thought as he sidestepped a punch. There weren't many men who could hit Ronon Dex and get away with it.

Ronon lunged, ducking another punch and coming up behind the marine's still-swinging arm. He struck while the kid was off-balance, driving his arm into the small of his opponent's back. The marine somersaulted to the ground, barely breaking his fall with a badly-timed roll. He struggled to his feet just in time to catch another blow from Ronon – this one landed across the back of his shoulders.

The poor kid never stood a chance. Ronon grinned to himself, spinning the marine around and roughly pinning his arms together with one hand before forcing him to his knees. Ronon's other hand landed firmly on the kid's right shoulder; he locked his arm, throwing all of his weight behind the hold. The marine struggled to stand, straining against Ronon's grasp, but couldn't seem to get his feet out from under him.

"…three…two…one…time!" someone called from the side of the makeshift ring. Ronon released the marine's shoulder, helping him to his feet.

"Nice job, kid. You did good." Ronon offered his hand.

The marine shook it. "I knew I was losing from the start," he laughed. "But thanks anyway." He made his way to the edge of the ring, rubbing his shoulder as he stepped over the driftwood that marked the edge. A wave crashed behind Ronon. He shook his head as seawater sprayed across his bare back; it felt good against the heat of sun and sweat.

He looked up as his next opponent stepped into the ring, grinning when he saw who it was. "Teyla! What a pleasant surprise! I figured you'd be out in the first round," he teased.

Teyla raised an eyebrow as she stepped towards the center of the ring. "Surely someone mentioned to you that I have won this tournament every year since I was seventeen."

Ronon chuckled. "Yeah, well, I wasn't competing when you were seventeen. Things are going to be different this year."

"We will see," she returned his grin confidently.

A tall Athosian stepped into the ring from behind Ronon. "All right then, call your weapons." This was new for Ronon; as of yet, most of his opponents had been marines, and all of his fights had been hand-to-hand.

Teyla raised her chin. "Sparring staffs."

"And do you consent?" the man turned to Ronon.

"Yes," he growled. "Wooden sword for me." Teyla nodded her approval.

Ronon eyed her warily as she caught the pair of sticks that were tossed to her, spinning them deftly as she memorized their shape and weight. He took the sword that was handed to him. It was lighter than he was used to, but no matter.

He frowned as Rheana stepped over the driftwood barrier and approached Teyla, a shallow bowl in her hands. "What's this?"

"Paint?" Rheana replied with a raised eyebrow, as if the question were a foolish one.

"Paint for…" Ronon gestured for her to continue.

"Oh, right. This must be your first weapons match," Rheana nodded in understanding. "By allowing you to choose the sword, Teyla has given you an advantage of sorts. You don't have to restrain her to win, as you would with hand-to-hand or staffs of any kind. You simply have to imitate a strike that would incapacitate her." Rheana dipped her fingers into the bowl, coating them in paint as Teyla lifted her chin to one side.

"This is how we keep you honest," Rheana continued as she began to rub paint along the sides of Teyla's neck. "If you can show red transfer on your sword, you win. Of course, the paint is pretty thick, so you'll still have to make decent contact for it to rub off. Teyla, on the other hand, still has to restrain you if she wants to win. Hence the advantage."

"Right," Ronon mumbled absentmindedly, watching as the dark lines of Teyla's tattoo were slowly obscured by the thick red paint.

Soon Rheana was finished, and she stepped back to the edge of the ring, patting Teyla's shoulder as she left. "Kick his ass, girl."

Teyla laughed as she spun her sticks a few more times, turning back to face Ronon. "I shall do my best."

There was a brief moment of silence. Waves crashed, but to Ronon they sounded far away. He drew himself, his senses, inwards, focusing on the sound of his breath, his heartbeat, the muffled _whoosh_ as Teyla's staffs spun again. He tightened his grip on the wooden sword. His muscles tensed slightly. Any moment now.

And then came the voice, the one he knew must have sounded from just behind the driftwood but still seemed to be miles away.

"You may begin."

His world descended into chaos.

Ronon swung his sword up just in time to block Teyla's overhand swing as her other stick came up below his arms, snapping into the right side of his rib cage. He dropped his arms instinctively, swinging his sword in a broad arc at her shoulder. But she was already gone, kicking up sand as she spun off to his right.

_Damn_ . He could have sworn she was slower the last time they fought. He watched her as she circled, spinning one stick as she held the other up, waiting for his move. There was quiet laughter burning behind her eyes.

For several minutes he lost track of the moves, of the steps and swings, acting on instinct alone to deflect the blows she rained down on him. They came quickly, sharply, and those that landed stung his arms and chest. He could hardly keep up with her movements; it was a challenge even to track the pattern of her steps.

One of her sticks cut through his defenses to slam particularly forcefully into his stomach. Ronon hissed, the last of his patience ebbing away. It was time to end this.

He stepped to the side suddenly, throwing his weight into a low swing at her left knee. She spun off to her right, as he had expected – directly into his extended arm. He grabbed at one of her sticks, wrenching it away and stepping back again before she could recover from her surprise. Ronon could hear a loud cheering from the marines, as well as from a few of the Athosian teenagers who took sparring lessons from Teyla. It was rare for them to see their teacher challenged (much less disarmed).

Teyla ducked low, one foot sliding into the sand for balance. He swung again, this time at her back; she rolled backwards over a shoulder, coming up beneath his swing to drive her sparring stick into the back of his knee.

Ronon stumbled into the sand as his leg buckled under him. She took advantage of his temporary loss of balance to swing at his left wrist. There was a loud crack as wood connected with bone; he grunted, dropping her sparring stick as he pulled his hand in instinctively. Teyla caught it before it hit the ground, jumping to her feet and backstepping into the surf. The Athosians cheered.

Ronon cursed quietly in Satedan. This was not going well. She was fully armed once more; a determined fire raged behind her eyes as the waves crashed into her calves. His left wrist throbbed painfully as he followed her into the surf, swinging cautiously at her side. She blocked him easily with one stick as the other snapped across his wrist for the second time. He winced momentarily, then swung again, this time at her shoulder. She ducked to the side and snapped a stick into his chest as she spun behind him.

He turned quickly, just in time to deflect an overhead arc meant for his shoulders. Both of her sticks cracked loudly against the wood of his sword.

_There_ , he smiled. He had her.

He twisted the sword quickly, before she had time to pull her sparring sticks back in, bringing both of them into his spare hand. He grabbed them firmly, pulling her against him and roughly twisting her arm behind her. Her spare hand came up to his shoulder in an apparent attempt to steady herself as he pulled her harshly to the side.

Ronon grinned, meeting her gaze as he began to bring his sword up to her neck. It took a second for him to register the look in her own eyes: it was not one of defeat, or even surprise. Instead he saw calm, quiet confidence. His sword arm paused involuntarily as she smirked.

_…the hell?_

It suddenly occurred to him that there had been no resistance as he had trapped her, no movement as he pulled her against him. For a fighter like Teyla, that could only mean one thing:

She had _let_ him.

_Crap_. 

Ronon didn't even have time to move. She dug her knee into his side, grabbing the hilt of his sword as she spun behind him. He lost his grip; she kicked her heel into the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. Before he registered what had happened his own sword was sliding across his neck, forcing him back against her stomach. He tried to stand, but the angle was wrong. He couldn't even get his feet out from under him.

Off to the side, he heard a loud voice call time, and the Athosians burst into cheering. Teyla released her grip, letting the sword fall to the ground.

She bent down to his right shoulder, brushing loose braids away as she brought her lips to his ear. A shiver shot down his spine as she whispered.

"Sorry. Maybe next year."

With that she picked up her sparring sticks and walked off to the edge of the ring.

-(break)-

Teyla won her next two matches (both sparring) quickly – and, apparently, effortlessly. Ronon was fascinated. Having fought her numerous times, he knew the extent of her abilities fairly well. But it was one thing to study her as an opponent, and truly another to watch from outside of the ring. Her movements were so swift that he had difficulty tracking them; even the most experienced Athosian warriors looked like amateurs in comparison.

After an hour or so, they had reached the final match. Teyla stood in the center of the ring, struggling to catch her breath from the last fight.

A tall, scraggly looking boy of about twenty stepped into the ring, carrying a set of sparring staffs. Ronon sized him up curiously.

Rheana, who was standing next to him, followed his gaze to the boy. "His name is Cheveyo," she said quietly. "He's only been sparring for a year, but already he trains with the men. They say he's a natural."

Ronon only grunted, his eyes scanning.

"What do you see?" Rheana asked quietly.

"He's got strong shoulders. Good hands," Ronon's voice was low, calculating. "He holds himself like a warrior." He paused, frowning. "I don't like his eyes. They're confident, but it's more than that. Pride, anger. Seems like he's ready for a war, not a game."

Rheana nodded. "Well, Teyla knows what she's doing. I'm sure she'll do fine."

Ronon chuckled. "It's not Teyla I'm worried about." The conversation ended there as the first crash of wood on wood reached their ears.

Cheveyo had already begun a complicated pattern of blows. His feet dug into the sand as he circled Teyla quickly, striking from every side, every angle. His hands never stopped moving.

Teyla appeared to be trying to keep Cheveyo behind her, opting to duck or roll instead of turning to face him. It was a wise decision, Ronon realized. She was more than capable of parrying attacks from behind, and the blows that did cut through her defenses landed on the hard muscle of her back and shoulders. She'd last longer this way.

Cheveyo threw his full weight into an overhead arc. Teyla was ready. Ducking quickly, she tossed her right stick to her left hand. She took hold of Cheveyo's stick as it came down on her shoulder and dropped to her knees. With a hard tug, she sent him flying over her shoulder, ripping the stick out of his grasp. She tossed it at the driftwood barrier and turned her attention back to her opponent.

Cheveyo came out of the throw well, rolling quickly up into a balanced stance. Too quickly. With fire in his eyes, he made his way back to Teyla in a few short steps, his remaining stick swinging.

Teyla was still stumbling to her feet when a quick, messy backhand landed across her face. She fell back to her knees, stunned, dropping her sticks as her hands dug into the sand. The crowd fell silent. It was a poor move, demonstrating both undisciplined retaliation and a dishonorable lack of respect for one's opponent. But it had been Cheveyo's choice to sacrifice that honor. And it had worked.

Ronon hissed in anger as he watched Cheveyo move in. The boy reached down, taking one of her sparring sticks as his own before kicking the second away. He stepped behind her and grabbed the neck of her shirt, yanking Teyla to her feet and pulling her roughly against him. Securing her with one stick across her neck and another across her rib cage, he planted his feet.

Somewhere to Ronon's left, a voice had begun to count down.

_Ten._

It was the next move that sent Ronon over the edge.

Tossing his hair back, Cheveyo looked up to meet Ronon's gaze. His eyes were cold, challenging, as if his real opponent was not Teyla but rather the man on the other side of the driftwood.

_So do something about it._ The cold eyes smirked.

Ronon's hands tightened into fists as the boy smirked. God, he wanted to. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to cross the driftwood and pummel Cheveyo into the sand.

_Eight_. 

There were, however, two things holding him back. One, this was Teyla's fight. As much as he wanted to enter the ring and help her, he respected her enough as a warrior to recognize that it was not his place.

_Seven._

The second reason was that Teyla was moving.

She had kept her head low, maintaining the impression that she was stunned. But her left foot was sliding, ever so slowly, back between Cheveyo's legs.

It took Ronon another few seconds - _Four._ - to figure out what she was up to.

Then his heart skipped.

He had taught her this one.

With one swift movement, her left foot shot to the side, crashing into the inside of Cheveyo's knee. The boy cried out in surprise. He struggled to maintain his balance, instinctively tightening his hold on Teyla. Planting her left foot once more, she threw herself at the ground, turning as she fell.

Cheveyo landed under her with a heavy thud and a groan, his arms falling loose. Teyla was free. She wrenched his sparring sticks away and took them as her own, crossing them over his neck and pressing her knee firmly into his chest. He was trapped.

Ronon could barely make out the countdown through the cheers of the Athosians. But it didn't matter. Teyla had won; the fight was over.

Ronon watched as she staggered to her feet and offered her hand to the boy. After a moment's hesitation, he took it, allowing her to help him to his feet. Ronon was surprised at what he saw. Cheveyo's shoulders were relaxed, his posture loose; he took his sparring sticks from Teyla's outstretched hand and smiled. The pride and anger were gone as quickly as the fight had ended; here was a boy who had lost, and a warrior old enough to know it. Shaking Teyla's hand, he climbed over the driftwood and returned to his already laughing friends.

Bending to pick up her own sticks, Teyla made her way over to Ronon. He rewarded her with one of his rare smiles as she reached the driftwood, offering her a hand as she climbed over. "You did good."

Teyla frowned, fingering the already darkening bruise on her face as they began the long walk back to Rheana's house. "Yes, well, tell that to my cheekbone."

Ronon stopped in his tracks, placing a hand on Teyla's shoulder and turning her to face him. She frowned in confusion. Her heart skipped in all sorts of directions as he stepped into her personal space for the second time that day. His fingers skimmed the edges of the bruise gently. Something deep inside her ribcage curled in on itself. After a few moments, he raised his gaze to meet her own eyes, a smirk on his face. It wasn't fair, she mused absently, that he could do this to her. "I'm sure you'll be just fine." With that he turned and continued on his way.

Teyla shook her head, resisting the urge to laugh at the butterflies in her stomach as she followed a few steps behind. _ That_ was the understatement of the century.

END CHAPTER FIVE

A/N: Toldya it was gonna be long. Mwahahahaha. Hope y'all liked it anyway. Chapter 6 should be along sometime in the relatively near future. If anyone out there is still alive after reading my very long chapter, please do me the favor of letting me know by reviewing. Xinnocent smileX


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded. Also, I did not write the entirety of the prayer included in this chapter; it was largely inspired by (if memory serves) a Hebrew psalm of some sort. Again, not mine.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like).

WARNING: There will be some mildly bad words in this chapter. If that bothers you, go to your happy place and don't read it. I won't mind. Promise.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about the absurdly long wait for this chapter… school and work and life just caught up with me, I guess. If it makes you feel better, this is looking like the longest chapter I have ever written. Yes, it is the last full-length chapter of the story (cue howls of despair). All the more reason to drop me a review if you enjoyed it (hint hint). I'm thinking there might be an epilogue, because there is one more situation that I would like to explore in this story. Kudos to anyone who would like to try to guess what that situation is in their REVIEW (hint hint).

And for all of you who didn't notice in the first 5 chapters, the doc upload system and my computer are not currently on speaking terms, so a lot of my formatting won't carry over. So… if you see something that looks like this " (– break –)", it means time has passed or there is a break in the scene. Thanks in advance for your understanding.

Many thanks to the lovely FullMetalRaven for her absolutely fantabulous beta work on this chapter. Thanks also to rach0486, who would have beta'd it if she wasn't so busy saving the world. We still love you, Rach.

CHAPTER 6

"I fail to understand why this is so important to you," Teyla laughed as she tossed another skirt back onto the bed.

"Nonsense," Rheana scoffed, shoving yet another outfit into her friend's hands. "It's good to be pretty. You never dress up on your own, so it's only fair that you humor me once a year and let me pick something nice out."

With a deliberately overdramatic roll of her eyes, Teyla stepped behind the screen to change once more. "I am _perfectly_ capable of dressing myself."

She heard a small chuckle sound from the other side of the screen. "Yeah, uh-huh, Miss combat boots and bullet-proof vest. Put the skirt on."

Within a few moments Teyla had the ties fastened, but it was of no use. The deep red folds hung several inches too long, twisting around her feet as she shuffled out to show her friend. Rheana sighed and shook her head. "How are you so _little_, child?" She gestured for Teyla to step closer, laughing as she took the fabric in her fingers. "Look at you! Even if we pinned this up, the thing would fall off as soon as you tried to walk. By the ancestors, do you even eat?"

Teyla chuckled. "I am sorry if I inconvenience you. Perhaps my usual clothing would be a better choice after all…?" she began hopefully.

"Nice try," Rheana said, reaching down to rummage through her trunk one more. "You're seriously telling me you don't own a dress?"

Teyla moved to sit next to her friend on the bed. "Perhaps one or two," she shrugged. "But I saw no need to bring them with me for two weeks of harvesting work."

"Hmph," Rheana grunted as she tossed a few more skirts onto the bed. "I don't think any of these will even fit you." She paused momentarily, her fingers brushing against something near the bottom of the trunk. "Wait a moment, what's this…?"

Teyla turned just in time to see her friend pull a long, flowing garment from the depths of the wooden box. The dress was beautiful. It was a deep sea-green shade, with thick bands of silver-colored thread lining the hem and sleeves. Rheana smiled softly, a far-off memory clouding her eyes. "I'd forgotten I still had this. It was a gift from my father." She laughed suddenly. "I never could get him to say how many _tava_ seedlings he traded for it, but I remember that it made my mother rather upset."

Teyla chuckled. "I am sure you looked beautiful in it."

Rheana sighed as she shook the memories off, turning to face her friend. "Well, more importantly, it hasn't fit me in many years… which means that you just might have a chance. Go, try it on."

Teyla took the dress into her hands gently, stepping behind the screen once more. There were no clasps or ties; she slipped it on over her shoulders, letting the fabric slide down to drape over her hips and legs. It was a little long, of course, but not nearly as much so as the others. _That's something at least_, she thought to herself as she stepped out into the light once more.

"By the Ancestors," Rheana murmured, her hand coming up rather dramatically to rest on her neck. "I do believe we've found the one."

Teyla stepped over to the large mirror Rheana had produced from a back room. She was surprised at her own reflection. The dress hung silkily over her curves, falling to rest gently on the floor; a large slit, accented by the silver embroidery, came midway up her thigh. The neckline was low, off-the shoulders by a few inches, but it fit her perfectly. She sucked in a breath, laughing at herself as she gave the dress an experimental twirl. "It's beautiful."

"_You're_ beautiful," Rheana corrected her, walking over to release the pin in Teyla's hair. The soft auburn curls spilled down over her neck and shoulders, completing the picture. "He won't be able to resist you in this."

Teyla blushed despite herself. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rheana snorted rather uncharacteristically. "Liar. Admit it, the boy's head over heels for you, and it's hardly unrequited. If he doesn't throw you over his shoulder and carry you off the second he sees you in this, he's blind _and_ stupid."

"That is a rather large responsibility to place on one dress," Teyla replied with raised eyebrow.

Rheana's grin only widened. "Trust me, you'll see."

-(break)-

A crowd had already gathered in the large meadow by the time Teyla and Rheana made their way through the final fringe of trees. It was most certainly not a scene one would expect to find in the middle of a forest at night. A large canvas tent had been borrowed from Atlantis earlier that day and ferried over to the mainland; it now filled most of the clearing. The fabric was an unwelcoming, plastic tarpaulin green, but a handful of the Athosian children had spent their afternoon hanging colorful strings of shells and late summer flowers from the edges of the dark fabric. Beneath the tent a series of long tables had been placed and covered with brightly colored cloth. A large bonfire blazed off to one side, casting long, dancing shadows over the whole scene.

Teyla spent several minutes visiting with various friends before seeking out a quiet table near the edge of the tent. Rheana had wandered off somewhere along the way, but it did not matter. She watched the crowd with a quiet smile from her seat on the tabletop, enjoying the sight of her people laughing. This was good for them, she mused quietly. All of them. It hurt her a little inside to watch, stung a little to see them finding themselves in this small moment of relaxation. She was happy for them, of course, but there was an undeniable pang of jealousy. Teyla rarely regretted her choice to live in the city of the Ancestors, to spend her days in the company of the Atlantis expedition team. She had made many new friends and, indeed, her fair share of enemies, but at the end of the day there was no denying it: Atlantis had become home. And, as much as she hated to admit it, a barrier had risen between this life that she had created and the world in which her people existed. She tried to convince herself that it was all for the best, that as the leader of the Athosians it was her responsibility to be their voice in the city of Atlantis. But that didn't stop it from hurting.

A loud scraping noise behind her startled Teyla from her daydreams; she turned sharply to see Ronon settling into a chair. "Hey there," he murmured, a spark of mischief behind his gaze as his eyes swept over her face and shoulders, coming to rest on the neckline of her dress. His eyes stopped there, then returned to her face, Teyla noted with respect. "You look beautifuk," his voice rumbled as he leaned back against the chair.

"Hello," Teyla responded with a nod. "And thank you." Her smile was just a fraction too wide.

He caught her, of course. She should have known better. He always seemed to know when she was faking it.

"What's wrong?" he sighed, standing up from his chair and coming to sit beside her on the table in one fluid movement. The heat of his body and the rough scratch of his tunic against her arm were distracting; her lips stumbled for a moment before forming a sentence.

"I am fine."

Ronon eyed her knowingly; she felt naked beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. "Like hell you are."

Teyla met his eyes, throwing as much defiance into her own expression as she could muster. "Ronon, really, it's nothing." A raised eyebrow on his part sent Teyla scrambling for justification. "Look at them," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the gathering crowds. "See how happy they are. For what reason could I possibly be upset on a day like today?"

"Ah," Ronon grunted. "I see." He turned back to watch the crowd, his face blank.

Teyla was disgruntled. "And what, exactly, is it that you see?" She forced the patience into her voice until it seeped out from between the seams.

"You made the right choice," his words escaped as a sigh. "No need to keep torturing yourself over it."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ronon turned to face her, his eyes calm but forceful. "When you decided to live on Atlantis. You did the right thing. No, don't even try," he cut off the beginnings of her protest. "I'm not going to tell you that you can go back, because you can't. It's over and done now. But I will tell you that you made the right choice. These people – your people – they love and respect you just as much as they did the day you left. You've taught them well; just look at the harvest we brought in. It took us weeks, Teyla. Weeks. That's how well they did. See what you've done? You've taught them the steps." He paused for a moment before turning calmly back to watch the crowd. "You didn't abandon them, Teyla. If anything, you're a better leader because you know that you're right where you need to be. The best way that you can help them and protect them now is by living and working in Atlantis."

Teyla prayed to the Ancestors that the little pool of a tear would be content to stay where it was in the corner of her eye. When he leaned to sling his arm casually across her shoulders and murmured "There, better now?", it was more than she could take.

Rheana appeared out of nowhere, just in time to see the tear slide down Teyla's left cheek. Her broad smile faltered momentarily. "Hey, you okay? What's wrong?"

Teyla smiled, already wiping the tear away and forming the words. She wouldn't need them, of course. With a final squeeze of Teyla's shoulder, Ronon released her, leaning back out of her personal space. "She's fine."

"Oh…okay." Rheana's voice was hesitant as she glanced from Teyla to Ronon and back to Teyla again. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that I've got people starting to sit down, so it's about time for you to… you know, do your thing."

"Of course," Teyla smiled quietly.

Rheana nodded and made her way back to the center of the tent, Teyla and Ronon following. Teyla could sense Ronon moving behind her, feel the pressure of his hands as they came to rest on her shoulders once more, his gesture of support. "Knock 'em dead." She felt cold when he pulled away to take his seat.

Teyla continued walking until she had reached the head of the center table. The crowd fell into silence gently – it was more of an ebbing away than a fall, really. She did her best to take it all in. The whistling of night birds, the wind in the trees, a quiet scraping as someone shifted at one of the tables. She felt a pulse take over, bigger and stronger and yet still a part of her own, lifting her up to a place where the words were docile and flowed easily from her chest all the way to spill out over her lips.

"It may seem that, this harvest, we have less to be thankful for than ever before." Her words rang out over the gathering.

"The last year has taken so much from us – our home, our families, our dearest friends. It seems that, no matter where we turn, the Wraith are waiting, waiting to take away all that we have worked and lived and loved for. We sit here tonight with clothes on our backs and roofs over our heads and food to sustain us. But as we look around our table, it is as if all we can see are the faces of those whom we have lost – the faces of those who, in a good and fair life, should be here to celebrate beside us. With the empty chairs of our friends and families surrounding us, it may seem as if we have little to be grateful for."

Silence lanced through the evening air.

"But I ask you, on this long-awaited day of celebration and thanksgiving, to open your eyes and to try to make out the blessings through the tears. I know it is difficult; I realize how much it hurts inside each and every one of us. But if you can look around you, you may just realize how very much we have to be thankful for. It is true that we have suffered much at the hands of the Wraith, that we have been forced to flee our homes, our very way of life simply to survive. And yet we have been blessed with this new home on the planet of the Lanteans, under the protection of the city of our Ancestors. With their guiding hands we have built new homes and raised new crops to feed our families and our children. It is true that we have lost many of our dear ones, but at the same time we have forged new bonds and created new friendships that will last us for as long as we live." With this she tossed a small smile in Ronon's direction. "We have proven, through our struggles, that no matter what the Wraith do to us, no matter what horrors we are forced to endure, the people of Athos will not simply lie down and give up. With the spirits of the Ancestors guiding us, we are not afraid. Because the fact is, my friends, that we are so much greater, so much stronger and more powerful than we seem. And so I ask you to join me in this prayer of thanks."

There was a sort of pure, innocent silence as Teyla closed her eyes and raised her face to the heavens. She looked almost like a child, Ronon would later recall, a small girl watching the skies for the shooting star that would carry all her dreams into the world of reality. Her voice was simply _small_ as she began to speak.

"It is difficult to find the words, Ancestors, to tell you of all that should be said tonight. For even if our mouths were as full of song as the sea, and our words of thanks were as many as the multitude of its waves, and our tongues were as swift as the winds – even if our eyes shone with light like the stars above and our hands were spread forth like the birds of heaven, we should still be unable to thank you enough for even one tiny part of the plenty which you have always bestowed upon our fathers and upon us."

And as she lowered her tear-streaked face back to the crowd, Ronon could have sworn that the rustle of wind in the trees around them whispered _Amen_.

(-break-)

The sun was fully set by the time the meal ended; torches were lit as a handful of men moved to build up the fire, waging war against the soft, cooling breeze of nightfall. Teyla leaned back in her chair, stretching her shoulders as the Athosians around her scraped back their chairs and made their way closer to the heat of the fire.

Without warning Rheana was beside her, pulling Teyla to her feet. "Hey there, girl. The speech was wonderful."

"Thanks," Teyla smiled. "You did not sit with me during the meal!"

Rheana giggled, a grin sparking across her features. "Yes, well, I had a table of marines pretty much to myself, so don't feel _too_ bad."

"I see," Teyla replied with raised eyebrow.

There was a sudden eruption of cheering to her left as a group of musicians took their place beside the fire. There were a handful of drummers, as well as two or three marines that had brought guitars with them from Atlantis. Teyla had seen them practicing with the village musicians after field work for the past week or so, even teaching a few of the Athosians some basic chords.

"Come on!" Rheana caught Teyla by the shoulder, dragging her excitedly in the direction of the fire. "We should dance!"

Teyla sighed as her friend pulled her through the crowd. "Really, Rheana, don't you think – "

"Don't even start. You're dancing this year." Rheana looked back over her shoulder at Teyla. "I'm not asking."

A few moments later the crowd cleared; they had reached the edge of the ring of firelight. Thick, patterned mats for the dancers had been laid in a wide circle around the firepit. As Teyla bent to remove her shoes, a loud whistle sounded from above her. "Ey! Ronon!"

She glanced up to see Rheana waving her arm in a grossly exaggerated "come hither" gesture and sighed. "Rheana, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm calling your boyfriend over."

"I believe the fact that I do not _have _a boyfriend may be a key flaw in your plan."

"Right, well, he's still coming over. Yeah, you," Rheana laughed as Ronon reached the edge of the mats, a question in his eyes. "You'll want to watch this."

Ronon's head tilted to one side, eyes flicking curiously to Teyla, then back to the other girl. "What?"

Rheana dismissed him with an absentminded hand gesture. "Right. First Harvest Festival. You'd think I'd remember that by now." She continued speaking as she bent down to unfasten her sandals. "The meal is always followed by traditional dances. This one's just for the women, but luckily for _you_," Rheana clapped her hands down on Teyla's shoulders, "_this_ one's going to _participate_ for the first time in far too many years. Which is really a shame, because she used to be the best – "

Teyla tried to interject. "She exaggerates. I am certain – "

Rheana cut her off with a tug, steering her friend by the arm towards the already-forming group of dancers. Looking back over her shoulder, she called out to Ronon one final time. "I never exaggerate. Trust me, Loverboy, keep your eyes on this one and you're in for a show."

Teyla tried hard to laugh off her embarrassment, willing the blush to leave her cheeks as she made her way into the circle. It was useless, of course; her heart rate nearly doubled as she took her place beside the bonfire and planted her right foot, bringing the left to a point behind her. She felt the fire against her face; when she lifted her gaze to wait for the starting beat, flame practically filled her vision. She heard Rheana's anklet jingle as she took a similar stance immediately to Teyla's left.

For a split second it occurred to her that she hadn't danced in years. And then, of course, it was too late. The starting beat sounded and she was swept into the current of it all, woven into the circle of spinning arms and falling steps.

Her feet faltered for a few moments, struggling to find their rhythm on the thick mats, but she was soon falling back into the music, calling from the distant edges of her memory the steps her mother had taught her so long ago.

It was a traditional dance, one of Teyla's childhood favorites. She couldn't help but grin widely as the steps came back to her. She threw her head back and laughed as she spun to the left, weaving past the other dancers as the dance carried her around the circle. The heat of the fire felt good against her skin, mixing with the warmth of movement and adrenaline to brush away any traces of the quickly-cooling night air. The beat of the drums took over, shaping her, driving her on, erasing everything she knew until all that remained was pounding feet and swinging arms and the clapping heartbeat of her people. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Ronon pacing along the edge of the mats, a hand in his hair and a wide grin on his face. Drawing a strange thrill from the idea of his eyes on her, she threw herself even deeper into the dance.

The song was over all too quickly. It was more exhilaration than exhaustion that was responsible for her rapid breathing; she stepped away from the fire for a moment, drinking in the cool night air.

Ronon waited for her at the edge of the blanketed space, offering up a flask of water and a broad smile. "You were great out there," he murmured as she accepted the drink gratefully.

Teyla raised an eyebrow as she cradled the flask. "I can hardly remember the last time I heard that dance. It is highly doubtful that I even got the steps right."

Ronon chuckled, meeting her gaze coolly. "Well, it looked good from here." Teyla shivered at the slight lilt to his voice, the open way in which he let his eyes graze over her neck and shoulders. This was one of the habits in which Ronon's unwavering self-confidence was most easily apparent; if this man was watching you, you'd know it. She returned his gaze in silence for a moment, letting her mind wander aimlessly over the night's events.

Within a few minutes the drummers returned to their places, this time followed by a teenaged girl holding a flute.

A melody floated out over the gathering, cool and sweet and enchanting as it misted gently through the night air. Teyla smiled in recognition as the drums started up, twining with the flute in a deceptively rapid beat. She set her flask down on the nearest table, turning to face Ronon once more. "This one is a partner dance," she stated simply, her chin lifting slightly as she met his gaze. "And a long-standing tradition of the Harvest Festival. You up for it?"

He returned her grin with a raised eyebrow. "Sure."

They avoided eye contact rather uncharacteristically as they made their way to the edge of the mats, Ronon pausing to slip off his boots before stepping onto the thick weave. It took Teyla a moment to realize that he remained at the edge as she made her way to the gathering group of dancers. She tilted her head to the side, the question written across her face.

"Oh," Ronon grunted. "I, uh, don't really know the steps."

Teyla laughed at his concerned frown, grabbing his wrist and pulling him into place as the music continued to pick up speed and a tambourine joined the pulsing harmony. "It's simple, actually," she explained as she placed his hands on her waist. "Step with the loudest drum, always spin clockwise, and move your feet to follow mine. It's pretty easy if you just focus on keeping yourself facing me."

With that she placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and spun them into the tide.

It took Ronon a few moments to settle into the beat, but quickly he realized that Teyla had been right. Though "easy" wasn't quite the word he would use – it was more that the steps felt right; there was something familiar, something instinctive to the fire-heat against his arms, the feel of her touch on his skin as the steps drew them closer together, the disorienting sense of falling as she pulled away again. They spun and wove through the other dancers, settling quickly into the pattern. Within two minutes he was able to lift his gaze from his feet and absorb the world around him – the swing of Teyla's hair as she stepped to the side, bright sparks flying up from the fire, the flickering lines of his own shadow. All of a sudden he became aware of the sound of his own laughter, a wide grin conquering his features as he picked Teyla up and lifted her through a turn. His bare feet took on a life of their own, stomping firmly with the drums, quickly kicking out the more complicated steps as a tambourine rose above the music. It was as if he was grabbing the world by its shoulders and spinning it out around him, sending color and shape alike flying into the night sky.

Without warning the drums dropped away, leaving only the melody; his steps faltered as a mysterious smile flickered across Teyla's features. Raising her hands once more to his shoulders, she pushed down slightly; Ronon yielded to the pressure and fell to his knees. With a flick of his eyes Ronon saw the other men do the same; satisfied, he turned back to Teyla. The overarching notes of the melody continued on, falling thick and heavy through the night to mix with the warm air surrounding the fire. Teyla's eyes caught hold of his with a kind of power, taking him hostage, ripping through the last vestiges of his higher brain function.

The seconds felt like an eternity as Teyla traced her finger from the corner of his eye down to his neck, searing its path into his skin. That odd smile of hers widened as his pupils shocked out, then back again; the pad of her index finger continued its path across his shoulder. She kept the tiny point of contact unbroken as she stepped, tip-toe, to his right, dragging her fingertip under his ear before trailing it through the thick braids. Ronon felt the seconds stretch into eons as she continued the steps until she came to face him again, her finger flicking up against his chin, pulling his face up to meet her own. The circle was completed.

Her hands returned to grasp his shoulders tightly as a single flute note hung in the air, then fell into silence. It was as if the world was breathless, waiting in unbearable anticipation for the tiny spark that would send it all hurtling over the edge.

It came, of course, because that sort of unbroken harmony never does last, does it?

A single, booming beat sounded from the drums as Teyla drew him forcefully to his feet. Ronon prepared himself automatically for the next step, but it never came. Her fingers tensed quickly, eyes flashing a warning; he stilled and she relaxed again.

One, two count. Just long enough to breathe. Once. 

The drums rose again with a roar, racing out into the night. There was a savage, desperate finality to their tone this time. The thundering pulse would go unchallenged, of course; the crowds had fallen silent with the flute what seemed like forever ago. It had engulfed them all, this mighty storm, this unstoppable tempest of sound and color and life.

Teyla stepped quickly into Ronon's space, her feet falling to interweave with his own, hands sliding to rest on his collarbone. His own hands moved instinctively to her waist. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

And, as suddenly as the drums had come, they were gone, falling sharply out of the star-pierced sky.

Ronon was sure there must have been a stillness then, a perfect silence, the sound of uninterrupted peace and settling air and a people who had re-forged a proud, living heartbeat against all kinds of hellish odds.

He just couldn't hear it over all the cheering.

-(break)-

After a few moments of charged stillness Teyla backed down, averting her eyes as she stepped almost timidly away. The cold air swept over Ronon as she took her body heat with her. The cheering died down gradually, replaced by loud conversation and constant laughter once more.

The silence between them was tangible. Teyla's fingers trailed up almost absently to brush her hair back from her sweat-beaded forehead; Ronon whistled but no sound came out. He still couldn't seem to catch his breath.

It was Teyla who tentatively broke the silence. "Well, there you have it," she chuckled softly. "Your very first Harvest Dance."

Something within Ronon settled right then, something just below and to the left of his rib cage. He wasn't sure just what it was exactly, but it felt right there, felt like it belonged – felt like it had never left all those years ago, never disappeared in fire and brimstone with the last breaths of his world.

He doubted he would ever know what that moment was called, ever find the words to describe the feeling that spiked through him as Teyla's smiling eyes met his own. But there was one thing he was sure of.

There would be no more running.

He could feel Teyla watching him as he exhaled powerfully, bending to rest his hands on his knees. She smiled, but there was something different in her eyes, something darker and purer that looked like a decision. Deep down she understood, he thought. Maybe something in her was settling too.

She turned then, preparing to make her way back to the mats' edge, but she never made it. Ronon straightened quickly, letting one of his hands fall firmly on her shoulder. He spun her back to face him.

"And just where do you think _you're_ going?"

Confused, Teyla gestured vaguely at the other dancers who were already making their way off the mats. Even the musicians were setting down their instruments, starting back to the tables to rest their hands and drink some cool water.

Ronon shook his head in mock disapproval. "Nice try."

He looked down and slid his hands around her hips, pulling her against him firmly. Teyla's mind spun at the sudden contact, at the feel of his fingers toying with the fabric at her waist. He dropped his eyes to meet hers. There was a feral look there, an outpouring of fire and energy and something else, something she vaguely recognized. It took her a moment to place it, but then she knew. It was the look she always found on his face when he pinned her to a wall in the gym back on Atlantis, when her sticks clattered to the floor and her head fell back and something inside him ticked it all off as another challenge overcome, another battle fought and won.

His lips were on hers before she even registered the movement, even noticed his right hand sliding up her back while the other tangled in her hair. The last bits of her rational thought vanished into oblivion as his teeth scraped over her bottom lip, his finger grazing the sensitive area below her earlobe, and suddenly everything was spinning and moving and pulsing all around and she couldn't have stopped it even if she wanted to. Her hand came up to his neck, tentatively at first, then determined as it sought out his pulse point. She smiled into his lips as she felt the artery jump under her fingers.

It didn't occur to her until he pulled away, of course, that the crowd of Athosians was still staring at them intently and had, at some point, broken back into cheering. From the corner of her eye she saw Rheana wave enthusiastically, then bring her fingers to her mouth in a loud wolf-whistle. Teyla blushed furiously, burying herself in Ronon's chest, reveling in the feel of his laughter under her as the crowd slowly dissipated back in the direction of the tables.

"Well," Teyla murmured, lifting her eyes to meet Ronon's. "That should start a decent number of rumors. At least as far as the mainland is concerned."

"Nah," Ronon chuckled, hands sliding down to rest on her waist once more. "The marines have long-range radios. I'd say we've got about twenty minutes before all of Atlantis is gossiping too."

Teyla raised an eyebrow, her expression deliberately blank. "Well, I most certainly cannot say that I've ever been the primary topic of conversation for an entire planet before."

"Mmmm…" Ronon hummed, bending to trace his lips lightly over the lines of her tattoo, his teeth nipping playfully at the darkened skin over her pulse point. "McKay'll be jealous."

Teyla couldn't help but laugh, raising her chin obligingly as he nuzzled into her neck with a low groan. As his still-ragged breath spilled across the dark lines of the tattoo, she smiled up at the stars. They winked and sputtered in the heated air of the fire. It was as if she were watching not the sky itself but its reflection on the ocean's surface, dark water ebbing gently to a calm after the longest storm ever imagined.

The laugh slowly died in her throat; she wove her fingers into Ronon's hair, watching the smoke ripple out over the sky.

Even the stars were dancing.

– END CHAPTER SIX –

A/N: Well, there you have it, folks. Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter… again, please don't hesitate to drop me a review if you did. For all those among you that have posted stories on this site, you know how amazing it feels to get feedback… for those of you that are just readers, take my word for it, it's wonderful. So do a girl a favor and drop me a note. Even just a short one. Please. (Me? Desperate? Whyever would you say that?) There may or may not be an epilogue showing up in the next few weeks, so stay tuned for that if you're interested. And… that's all I have to say about that. Love y'all.


	7. Epilogue

I disclaim.

A/N: Well, here it is, as promised: the long-awaited epilogue. It's not even remotely what I had been planning to do (which is part of why it took me so long), but this popped into my head and there was just no going back. I sincerely hope that you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And, again, thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story to the end. It means a lot to me.

Unbeta'd. I'm sure FullMetalRaven would have done it if I'd asked, but I wanted at least one thing in this story to come as a surprise to her. So… any mistakes are my own.

EPILOGUE

Teyla shivered slightly against the chill of the night air, taking a moment to slide a bit closer to the dying fire and pull the blanket tighter around herself. The embers glowed with a slow, deliberate heat, casting a ring of red light over the gentle folds of her skirt. Deep shadows danced across the thick mats. Her eyes slipped out of focus, then back again. A lazy smile curled across her lips. She was fading quickly into sleep; soon it would be time to head back to the village for the night.

She barely registered the footsteps behind her, the gentle thump as another body lowered itself to the ground. A pair of heavily muscled arms wrapped themselves around her; her mind tensed momentarily before relaxing as familiar fingers wove instinctively through her own.

"I haven't seen you in a few hours," she murmured softly, allowing herself to lean back against the warmth of Ronon's chest. "Are you having a good time?"

"Mmm." She felt the gentle warmth of his breath on the back of her neck as he kissed the skin beneath her ear. "The children captured me. I swear, if I have to give one more shoulder ride, someone's going to get shot."

Teyla chuckled quietly as her eyes slipped shut, turning her face into the curve of his shoulder. She felt the fingers of his left hand toying with her own, gently spinning the thin wood circling her ring finger. Her mind drifted slowly back to the memory.

Although rings were not traditional in either of their cultures, Ronon had taken a liking to the Earth custom. Not to say, of course, that he hadn't found a way to make it his own – their own. He told her later that the delicate metal and sparkling stones seemed too showy, too fragile. A woman as beautiful as Teyla, he had said, needed no glittering jewelry to draw attention. The dark circle he had slipped onto her hand seven months ago, carved from the rich wood of his sparring stick, was far more fitting in his mind. To him it would always represent everything he loved about her most: the fight, the fire, the spirit. In place of a stone, he had carved out the intricate symbol that had graced her neck last year. She had cried.

So had he.

So had Rodney, although to this day he wouldn't admit to it. But that was another matter entirely.

The deep rumble of Ronon's voice tugged her gently back to the present. "It's a shame, you know, that you couldn't speak this year."

"You did a fine job," Teyla yawned. "And you did earn it."

The quiet laugh that vibrated through his chest tickled against her cheek. "Yes, that I did. Although I have to say that the competition this year was disappointing."

"Was it really?" She copied his playful tone, turning her face up to watch his. "How so?"

"Well," he brushed his lips across her own. "It probably had something to do with the fact that my wife refused to compete."

She caught his eyes, watching the glow of the embers reflected there. "If I recall correctly, that was her husband's idea."

"And for good reason." He snorted, instinctively smoothing his fingers across the gently growing curve of her stomach. "No sense giving the little one battle scars before she can even defend herself."

"Mmm." Teyla lowered her head once more, nestling back into the folds of his tunic. "And here I thought you were just trying to avoid the humiliation of getting your ass kicked by a woman with morning sickness."

He sighed overdramatically. "Yes, well, that too."

A peaceful silence settled over them. Ronon brought one hand up to her neck, gently stroking the auburn curls that spilled over her shoulders. He could feel her breathing slowing down, approaching the quiet rhythm of sleep. He was about to lift her to her feet when the gentle murmur of her voice reached his ears once more.

"I suppose it's good practice." The mumbled words were slurred almost beyond recognition.

"Hmm?"

With a tiny sigh, she nuzzled even further into the opening of his tunic. He could feel the small puff of her breath against his skin. "The shoulder rides."

Ronon didn't even try to fight the silent grin that curled across the edges of his mouth. Some battles just can't be won.

FIN

A/N: Well, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed. Don't hesitate to drop me a note if you did. If you liked this story, do keep your eyes open, because I've got another in the works.


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